Evil Comes for Thee
by Daniel Benson
Summary: Barkis is back...with a few friends! FINISHED AND UPDATED
1. Chapter 1: Of Sketches and Skeletons

His heart beat rapidly within him as he held the little sketch up with two shaking fingers. It was not the finest of his artwork, to be sure—but if it was of no interest to others, he found that it possessed a quality which none of the other pictures could have hoped to display. Thin lips curving in a smile of pure delight, he clambered somewhat unsteadily onto his desk, hoping to find some bare patch of wall to which he could fasten the drawing. There had to be a place where he could gaze at it without the slightest difficulty whilst sitting, but there were far too many butterfly sketches—somewhat agitated, he looked about him desperately even as a light knock rang upon his door.

"Oh!" he cried, startled. Running for the door, he swung it open with all possible haste. There stood the favorite subject of his art, her hands clasped behind her and her head cocked to one side as she watched him, somewhat amused by his panic.

"Victoria!" he breathed, the sketch falling from his hand. He moved swiftly to recover it, but Victoria was still faster.

"Hmm," she said, surveying her portrait with the faintest of smiles. "It's very nice, Victor. I like it. It's me isn't it?"

"Oh, _yes,_" Victor breathed, clasping his hands wretchedly. "I'm afraid it isn't very good, I—"

"My hair," murmured Victoria, touching her own with one small hand, "why, it's rather messed up, isn't it? Look at these loose strands. You make it seem as if I'd just been in the worst of storms!"

Victor colored slightly, his fingers working ceaselessly at his worn tie. He couldn't bear listening to his beloved's comments on the picture, for he was deeply afraid that he had indeed sketched her poorly—and to hear as much from Victoria would certainly cause him the worst agonies yet.

Victoria cupped his hands in her own, stilling them. "Victor," she said, leaning towards him, "it's beautiful."

"Really?" Victor murmured with some uncertainty.

Victoria smiled. "Of course. You draw so brilliantly."

Taken aback, Victor tried to free his hands and resume twisting his tie but Victoria held them firmly. Gaining some courage, and with Victoria's gentle encouragement, he bent his head with the intention of finally kissing her—yet they were interrupted by the unpleasant sound of voices below, voices which they recognized all too swiftly.

"Mother—and father," Victoria whispered, stepping back. "I'd better go or they may find me here. You know how they do not approve of this—and if they learned of how I visit you without their permission…"

Victor managed a weak smile as she spared him one last glance before shutting the door behind her, but he could barely contain his disappointment.

"Oh," he said, "if only she could have stayed longer." He drew forth his little ring from within his coat and gazed at it dreamily. "Tomorrow," he whispered, "ah, tomorrow! I must be prepared—there will be no mistakes this time. With this hand, I will lift your sorrows…" he raised one hand in a theatrical fashion as he illustrated this point before continuing, "your cup will never empty—for I will be your wine." Hesitating, Victor laid one hand lightly over his heart. "I will be your wine," he murmured, lost in thought. "Your wine. Oh—get on with it, Victor! Yes, with this candle I will light your way in darkness…with this ring, I ask—I ask you to be—mine." He paused, drawing a deep breath. "It should be," he added after a moment, "I _beg _you to be mine. With me saying it, that's how it will doubtless be."

Gently tucking the ring away in his coat, he was startled to hear a familiar yet grating voice behind him.

"Well, well, aren't you just gettin' good at those vows? If I ever want some gal's hand, I hope I do that stuff in Victor-style, with the tremblin', and the stutterin', and the downright shameless terror, ha ha!"

Victor spun around, a tremor passing through him. "Please," he prayed softly, "not…_Bonejangles?"_


	2. Chapter 2: Out of this World

"Howdy!" the skeleton eased himself from beneath Victor's narrow bed, looking about him and blinking his one eye with some curiosity. "Hmm. Now, whose house am I in? Come on, don't be shy. Break it to me!"

"Why—my house, sir," Victor murmured. No sooner had these words escaped his numb lips than he commenced a desperate checking of his pulse, his jaw somewhat slack and his expression noticeably frozen whilst doing so.

"Whuz the matter?" Bonejangles inquired with a yawn. He stretched himself, bones cracking all too audibly.

"Heaven help me!" Victor said, his voice low, "I can't feel a pulse."

Bonejangles's eye rolled about for an instant, so mirthful was the skeleton. "Don't worry," he rasped, making his way toward Victor, "I ain't comin' for you now. Here, let me find the old heartbeat."

Victor gasped as one fleshless hand caught hold of his wrist.

"No—stop!" he cried, pulling away. "I can find it…"

Bonejangles blinked. "Come on," he said, observing Victor's panic, "you've seen dozens of skeletons in your day, sonny. What's the point in gettin' scared all over again?"

"I'm not scared," Victor breathed, stepping slightly back.

"I say you are," Bonejangles shot back, seizing his arm and thus ending any hope of retreat.

"Sir, I beg you to release me," Victor said, trembling, "and—and I find that I—I must ask you why you have come here."

Bonejangles tightened his grip on Victor's arm. "Seen any corpses lately?" he said, "'Cause that's why I'm here! I was sittin' in the old Ball and Socket one day, when suddenly the earth begins shakin' and everything's complete chaos. Then there's this portal that appears, and as I'm thinkin' to myself, 'Why in the _blazes _is there a portal in this pub?' some body walks straight into it! Well, I take it upon myself to rescue the soul, as does a good many other fellas like me. Next thing I know, here I am. Strange, ain't it?"

Victor nodded uneasily. "Quite. How did you know that it was a portal?"

Bonejangles allowed his captive to free himself of the cruel grip with which he had held him and said, "I see ya don't believe me. Bud, I could see the _world _through that portal. Both worlds. Mine, yours—man, it was a sight. In fact, I can show it to you. See here, under your bed? Come on, look! You're not lookin'."

Victor knelt beside the skeleton. "I don't see it," he whispered.

"Perhaps," Bonejangles said wickedly, "you're not close enough."

Victor fought the skeleton's efforts to force him beneath the bed with all his pitiful strength, but to no avail. The skeleton cackled as he heard Victor utter a little cry of pain; yet as he crouched on the bed, fully prepared to take on still more resistance, he came to realize that no living creature remained within the room. Victor had indeed discovered the portal of which Bonejangles had spoken.

"Well, I wonder where he ended up," Bonejangles mused, heading for the door.


	3. Chapter 3: An Unforeseen Dilemma

To fall unconscious is a most unpleasant thing, sometimes more so than others. It is far better to faint completely rather than partially, for falling into a half-conscious state is far more agonizing for the one who endures it than the more merciful feeling of sleep which comes with utter oblivion. For Victor, fainting was no extraordinary occurrence—only an inconvenience which he tried to rid himself of without the greatest success. When he was pushed by some unknown force out the other end of the portal, he ceased breathing, took a few faltering steps in no particular direction, and fell into a semi-swoon. He was not entirely unaware of all that took place about him, yet his body had gone pitifully limp and he seemed lifeless. He could dimly hear voices, and he knew that someone was carrying him; after a few moments he was laid with the utmost care down upon a hard, cold surface. Ears ringing unbearably, he tried to raise his head; chilly hands forced him to remain still, and the worried voices became louder as he regained consciousness.

"Off my counter, get him off my counter! _Mon Dieu! _We cannot have this!"

"Easy there, Paul. The poor thing's fainted."

"Looks familiar, doesn't he? Haven't we seen him before?"

"We have. I know the boy personally—Victor? Victor Van Dort, can you hear me? It's Mayhew!"

Victor moaned as he forced himself to breathe deeply. If he could not speak, he could certainly think—and all he wished was that the talkative spectators surrounding him would let him rest, if only for a mere second.

A chilly hand was pressed lightly against his forehead and he cried out, startled. Eyes opening halfway, his gaze fell upon a familiar visage and he sprang to his feet.

"No," he whispered as he was compelled to seek the support of a nearby table. His eyes rolled slightly. "This can't be."

Smiling sweetly, Emily waved at him. "Didn't expect to see you again," she said..

Victor's eyes roved the room, searching for the portal that had brought him there. Thinking that he spied it, he stepped in its direction—but his legs gave way beneath him and he fell to his knees.

Emily rushed to his side. "Paul! Fetch him some water, quick! Oh, Victor, lie back—you're too weak to stand. What are you doing?"

It had fallen from one of his coat's pockets and lay close by his left hand. Victor gazed at it quietly before tucking it away in his coat, but not before Emily had caught sight of the image he had looked upon with such awful grief.

"Victoria?" she whispered. A frown crossed her face, but it was one born of compassion and not dislike. "You've nothing to worry about, Victor. This unexpected occurrence isn't going to last."

Balanced skillfully upon Paul's head was a platter bearing one tall glass of water; hurrying towards Emily and Victor, he cried,. "Your water! _Voici une tasse de l'eau!"_

The corpse bride raised the glass from its platter. "Here, Victor. Drink this up."

Victor lifted the glass until its rim brushed against his lips, but he did not drink. "What does this portal mean?" He wondered aloud. "And—and _is _that one?"

Emily looked swiftly in the direction he indicated. She nodded in silence, gazing at a mass of colors that twisted about as they formed a circular, shimmering mass of light. As the two watched it, the strangest of sights were revealed to them—cities reeking of mystery, creatures which they had once thought to exist only in the wildest of their dreams. Entranced, Victor rose from the floor and stepped a tad closer to it.

"Would it truly take me—out there? To those places?"

Emily watched him anxiously, a little afraid that he would have yet another fainting fit. "I haven't any idea," she said, "for those of us who passed through it—well, naturally they can't—can't—" her voice grew fainter as she watched the portal with growing horror.

A deathly silence fell as the occupants of the pub stared at the image which the portal now displayed. It was a chamber, richly furnished yet possessing a gloom that even its large fireplace, well-stocked with wood and blazing admirably, could not disperse. And there was Victoria, dozing as she lay in her cozy featherbed, unaware that over her sleeping form a long knife was held poised.

Victor screamed and dashed towards the portal, but he was stopped from entering it by Emily.

"Don't," she whispered. "Something evil is taking place here. We don't know where you could appear—stay!"

Victor strove to move past her even as the knife descended slowly until it rested against Victoria's throat. The one who held it could not be seen, for the portal seemed to grow cloudy over him.

"Rise, Victoria," a voice hissed, "it is time for us to depart."

Victoria's eyes snapped open and she voiced a feeble shriek of terror. Victor called her name, trying harder still to reach the portal even as the corpse bride easily resisted his efforts and held him back simultaneously.

"Let me go," Victor whispered, pausing for the slightest instant, "please, Emily. You do not understand; if anything should happen to her—"

Emily remained unmoving. "I've lost Bonejangles," she said, her voice shaking, "and others. Are you asking me to watch you disappear, likewise?"

Victor fell on his knees at her feet. "Let me go to her!" he cried, "I beg you! I _am_ asking you to watch me disappear, Emily, and..."

"You might die..."

"And would that not be but a small price to pay? Emily..."

She turned away from him, biting her lip viciously. "I—I—" she whispered.

"Oh, please, won't you let me...no..._Victoria!"_


	4. Chapter 4: A Death

Emily could bear Victor's anguish no longer. Grasping his trembling hands, she pulled him to his feet and approached the portal speedily, slipping into it with barely a moment's hesitation. There was the oddest spasm of pain which lanced through her as she did so, as if the portal's surface had hurt her, and she gasped, a little frightened.

The journey through the portal was quick, and before she knew it she found herself standing in a familiar room. Victor tried to free his hands from her iron grip even as Victoria herself laid horror-filled eyes upon them. A tall, cloaked figure had a firm hold on her arms and was dragging her steadily towards her bedroom door.

_"Halt!" _Victor's cry was somewhat startling in the quiet little room. He dashed towards Victoria's captor even as that individual performed the most startling feat; releasing Victoria, it took up its knife once more and with this weapon it stabbed her before spinning about and disappearing through the portal which Emily and Victor had arrived through. No sooner had it done so than the portal seemed to melt away until there was nothing left of it at all.

None of the persons in the room seemed to notice what had become of the portal. Victoria lay upon the floor, her eyes dim with pain as Victor knelt close beside her and Emily bent over her anxiously. She breathed in quick, shallow breaths and she shivered uncontrollably as Victor murmured,

"Ah, thank Heaven you are not hurt badly, Victoria. Look, your arm's barely even bleeding! What's wrong? It's alright, really. You're fine."

Emily knew at a glance that this desperate assertion was far from true. Touching Victor's arm, she said quietly, "Victor..."

"Victoria? What's the matter?" Victor held Victoria's icy hands and rubbed them gently. "You're so cold. Come, now," he said with a weak smile, "it wasn't all that bad, was it, Victoria?"

"Victor."

"Yes, Emily?"

The corpse bride looked at him sorrowfully, her eyes brimming with tears of pity. "Oh, Victor," she whispered, "don't you see? Victoria is—dying."

Perhaps Victor would have replied, but Victoria distracted him as she reached upwards, her fingertips brushing against his face.

"Victor?" she said in an almost drowsy manner, "Our wedding."

"Tomorrow," Victor said, his voice shaking uncontrollably.

Victoria raised herself halfway, but her strength was nearly spent and she would have fallen back if Victor had not moved to support her, positioning himself so that when she fell, she fell against him and thus remained upright. A pretty smile of gratitude rewarded him for this and he felt a little warmth creeping back into his bloodless face.

"Victor," Victoria said, her hands fiddling restlessly with his coat, "there—there won't be a wedding tomorrow."

Victor made no response at first, his eyes closed as he rocked gently back and forth. Then he said in the faintest of whispers, "Victoria—I don't understand. How can you be..._dying? _You were hardly even scratched..."

"I don't know," Victoria said with a sob, "I don't know." She tried to rise again in her frustration but still she could not. Victor held her still, wishing that he had not spoken, and he drew a shaky breath.

Victoria's life had all but slipped away. Her head rested limply on Victor's heaving breast, and she moved somewhat closer to him even as she drew a final breath, a bright smile curving her lips.


	5. Chapter 5: 'Tis Very Temporary

It is now necessary to explain that, when transformed into butterflies, the corpse bride was prevented from entering paradise. She had flown quite near it and been allowed one brief glimpse of that enchanting land, yet for reasons which were unknown to her she had been sent back. Naturally, she was more than a little disappointed—yet one individual welcomed her return with somewhat selfish glee.

Maggot was fond of the corpse bride. She provided him with more than the deepest of friendships, though we will not speak further of that, and he was felt quite indebted to her. Because of this, he had tried to give up his nagging ways once and for all, thus giving Emily some privacy. It was to no avail, and she—being somewhat ill-tempered after her unexpected return—denied him her company. Still, he followed her about wistfully, hoping that perhaps she would catch sight of him and change her mind.

Maggot was a witness to Victoria's tragic death, and foul thoughts which should not have entered his mind at all captivated him for the longest time. What he saw lying dead in Victor's arms was not a poor, lifeless girl but a fresh home.

"Awfully small, isn't she?" he said, voicing his considerations aloud.

Emily, catching sight of him, gave a terrible snort of revulsion. "Out of here, Maggot," she hissed.

"Hmph," Maggot returned, "shall I make sure she's really dead or..."

"You can shut up!" Emily spat, looking hurriedly at Victor and hoping that he had not overhead them, though she had no reason to fear—Victor was utterly lost to the world. Sighing, she turned away and spoke to no one in particular. "I think I'll have a look around the house—perhaps her parents are in. I'm sure they'd _love_ to see me."

Victor raised his head at her bitter statement but did not speak. The expression on his face hinted that his reason was steadily returning to him; glancing down at Victoria, he gently raised one of her limp hands until it rested over his heart, cold and unmoving. He hid his face from view, a despairing sob escaping him as he did so.

Emily's lips parted and she seemed about to move towards him, yet she thought better of it and whispered with a sigh, "I'm so sorry, Victor."

Maggot watched her as she left the room quietly. No doubt she intended to leave Victor in solitary mourning, but he had other plans; easing his way down the arm of the chair he had formerly reclined upon, he dropped to the floor and then squirmed about with some difficulty until he had seated himself on Victor's shoulder.

"Hey," he said, "are you absolutely_ certain _she's dead? I mean, that is such a _large _statement..."

Normally Victor would never have had the power to silence such a talkative creature, and he had not even meant to, really, yet when his pain-filled eyes rested on Maggot the little worm's mouth clamped shut with astonishing haste.

"I—I'd like it if you would look at her yourself," Victor said softly. "Perhaps she...isn't."

Maggot truly detested raising Victor's hopes, but he had no choice now. "Well," he said sulkily, "I think we'd better check for a heartbeat, then. Hold out her hand; yeah, just stretch out your arm like that and hold her hand there. Don't hold it at the wrist! That's better. Let me see..." he wriggled along Victor's thin arm until he had reached Victoria's hand. "Hmm."

Victor watched him anxiously. "Well?" he whispered.

Maggot swallowed. "I don't hear anything that sounds like a heart," he said, cocking his head to one side. "I'm afraid—I'm afraid—"

"Never mind."

Maggot looked hard at Victor, a little taken aback by the tone which he now used. Noting the worm's astonishment, Victor smiled for the first time since Victoria's demise and explained quietly,

"I have made a decision, sir. Henceforth I shall not believe that Victoria is dead, for it is clear to me that she most certainly is _not_."

"What?" Maggot exclaimed. "But look at her! She is without life, Victor! Believe me—I should know."

Victor threw his head back, his eyes shining with determination. "I won't believe it," he said. Rising from the floor, he attempted lifting Victoria and carrying her to her bed, but soon this was given up and he stood back, breathing hard.

"If I were human," Maggot said, "I'd help you. Tell me, mister, are you insane or something? She's dead. I hate to have to be the one to convince you of it, but it's true!"

Victor sank to the floor again and Maggot looked away, fearing that his words had finally made an impression on him. When he finally ventured a peek at Victor, he was astonished to find him anything but grieved. The deranged young man had commenced gazing upon Victoria's pale face, his lips moving as if he spoke—but Maggot could hear nothing.

"Victor," Maggot sighed.

"Look," Victor said, facing him, "how can a mere scratch have killed her? Poison? I've thought of that, yet my heart won't believe it. She will wake, I know she will. _You _know she will."

"No, I don't," Maggot said, "but if you say so..."

It was at that moment that Emily dashed into the room, her eyes wide with shock. "Victor—Maggot—we have to leave! The house...someone's set it on fire!"


	6. Chapter 6: Still More Chaos

What do you mean, 'set it on fire?'" Maggot cried, recoiling in his fear.

"Downstairs is a mess," Emily said, "everything's up in flames! Victor, can you hear me? We _have_ to get out of here!"

Victor seemed torn for an instant. "No!" he cried as the corpse bride tried to drag him towards the outdoors balcony, "I'll not leave Victoria. But—but I can't lift her, Emily. Will you help me?"

"No." Emily's tone was firm. "Out of the question. She's dead, Victor—and I won't encourage you to think otherwise."

They had a somewhat hurried staring-contest during which Maggot commenced the wildest fits, writhing and screaming with such panic that Emily was forced to attend to him. Cupping the worm in her hands, she made her way to the balcony and then turned.

"You're coming, Victor?" she said, watching as the faint glow of fire dimly lit the hallway just outside Victoria's room.

Victor was trying desperately to lift Victoria, but his efforts were wasted. Turning his head towards Emily, he replied, "I can't."

"Why can't you?" she spat. "You're still clinging to that old hope that she's alive? Don't be such a child, Victor. She's dead—grin and bear it, why don't you?"

It was harsh of her to speak thus, though she had not believed it so whilst she said it. Victor made no reply and seated himself quietly at Victoria's side, his head bowed.

"Why, you're suicidal!" Emily cried as she caught sight of the fire which now blazed merrily in the hall.

"It would be wrong of me to leave her," Victor said, "for if I believe her living, I have no choice but to believe that—that you won't leave me to die and will therefore help me carry her out!"

Emily had never before seen such behavior. With an awful grimace, she swung the balcony's glass doors open and stepped outside. The sight which met her eyes was not at all a pleasant one and she gasped, horrified; the whole town was on fire, save for the church, and a sizable crowd stood in the town square as they watched their houses fall to ruin.

Her eye fell unexpectedly from its socket and Maggot said, "What's going on? Why's everything burning?"

"Went back in, did you?" Emily said, a little dazed.

Victor was coughing violently behind her and she turned, her expression frozen, hoping that perhaps he would come outside of his own accord.

"He'll never leave, will he?" she whispered. "Will I be forced to—to—"

"Knock him unconscious?" Maggot interrupted. "That's a swell idea! But he won't ever forgive you for it, I'm afraid."

Emily closed her eyes for a moment as Victor's coughing grew exceedingly worse. Then she said, "I won't make him leave her."

"Then you're leaving him? To _burn alive?" _

"No." Emily swallowed audibly. "I'm—I'm helping him with that corpse."

Inside Victoria's room, Victor found things more than a little unpleasant. His breathing had become labored and he coughed with every breath as smoke blurred his vision, forcing him to shut his eyes. Holding both Victoria's hands, he prayed silently that Emily would have pity on him and offer her desperately wanted assistance.

Consciousness fast departing, he soon found himself lying beside Victoria, unbearable heat closing about him as rested between her and the raging fire.

"Oh, Victoria," he murmured, his long fingers playing with her hair.

Emily slipped her arms beneath him and lifted him before rushing towards the balcony. The moment his lungs were filled with fresh, cool air Victor seemed a little revived; he gazed about him in bewilderment as Emily climbed from the balcony, but then began striving weakly to free himself of her hold.

"What is it?" Emily said, irritated. Her feet finally resting on firm ground, she laid Victor down gently and paused as he gasped,

"Victoria—you haven't left her, have you? Say you haven't!"

The corpse bride threw up her hands in exasperation. Finding that her troublesome eye was lying on Victor, she caught it up swiftly and realized that Maggot had settled himself on Victor's middle; looking up at her, the worm said urgently,

"The house is burning pretty fast...if you're going back for that girl, you'd better go now. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him."

Emily wasted no time in clambering back up the wall and onto the balcony. Victoria was not very heavy, either; it was hardly any trouble carrying her to safety. Victor caught sight of Emily as she returned, and as she deposited Victoria close by him he managed to whisper the corpse bride's name, whereupon she sat near him inquisitively.

"You want to say something, then?" she said, still a little put out with his past behavior.

Victor was not fully recovered and his body twisted with pain; groaning softly after every agonizing cough, he tried to remain still but could not. Emily scolded him gently for having spoken and, fishing about in his coat until she found it, stroked his damp forehead with his handkerchief.

"There will be plenty of time to talk later on," she said. "You're going to be alright, Victor. Don't worry—you're not going to die," she added with a smile, for he did seem somewhat panicked by his present state of health.

Emily's eyes strayed towards Victoria's unmoving form and she wished fervently that she could say the same to her.

_-----_

_I should like to make an announcement before I continue with this tale. Pressing matters have occurred which render it impossible for me to continue writing frequently. Furthermore, I am not entirely certain that this story captures not only my but my readers' interest anymore. _

_Bidding you all a "very temporary" farewell,_

_Daniel Benson_


	7. Chapter 7: Dead and Buried

It was impossible for Emily to seek out help, for she came to realize that her presence, rather than prevent it, caused even further anxiety amongst the living. How long she paced twisted streets and attempted to speak with persons who simply fled from her she didn't care to know; still, her patience triumphed in the end. With the aid of a few sympathetic individuals who managed to overcome their fear, she made certain that Victor was sheltered within the church and that Victoria was simply laid to rest.

Perhaps it was convenient that Victor's health declined rather than improved during the next few days, thus forcing him to remain in bed, oblivious to all that took place about him. Because of this, Victoria's funeral was a quiet, undisturbed affair which Emily and Maggot attended for their bed-ridden friend. It occurred to Emily as she watched a few grim gentlemen lower Victoria's coffin into the chilled earth that no Everglots were present; why, her parents would have died themselves rather than miss—oh, well. Emily couldn't bear the guilt which this thought caused her and she tried not to pay it any heed, wishing that she had given in to the advice her parents had given her concerning an important matter that she had been too young to give any serious thought.

"Well," said Maggot after a moment's hesitation, "at least she's dead and buried, and at least I can dig my way to her, hmm?"

"What's so good about her being dead?" Emily returned, quick steps carrying her swiftly away from that sad little graveyard.

"Well," Maggot said callously, "with her gone, Victor's all yours—_isn't _he?"

Emily, more than a little outraged by this statement, halted abruptly and snarled, "If you mention something to that effect _again_, my dear Maggot, you're a dead worm."

Maggot was silent for a moment. Then he said, "But I thought..."

"You thought wrong. Why, I don't envy Victoria at all; at least I _wouldn't_, if she had been able to marry what's-his name."

"You know his name!"

"Well...yes."

"Then why didn't you say it?"

Emily refused to speak further. At least she knew that she couldn't have cared less about winning Victor's affection, if no one else did. At the moment, more pressing matters held her interest.

"Now that we're Upstairs," she said, "I wonder if we can find Bonejangles. He's got to be somewhere around here..."

* * *

It was a pleasant dream—one that she knew could never possibly come true unless Victor became drastically more talkative. They were sitting together in her family's parlor, quite alone; and how Victor chatted away! If only she could understand all that he said, but his words seemed slurred and they were impossible to make any sense of. But it was so nice to see him finally speaking without the least discomfort...he was usually so uncertain as to just what to say. It took a good deal of prompting on her part if she wished him to start a conversation of his own.

Victoria sighed deeply as she began to wake. She shifted her position, trying to make herself more comfortable, and her hand struck the coffin's wooden lid; eyes flying open, the day's previous events flooded her mind and she drew in her breath sharply. Where was she?

Panic stopped her heart for the briefest second. She tried to force the coffin's lid upwards to no avail even as the air grew steadily thinner about her. She was suffocating.

The coffin jolted abruptly in a manner which suggested that it had taken quite a fall, which she knew to be impossible. Yet the lid slid to one side with surprising ease, and as she sat up she found herself confronted by a fellow she knew all too well.

"Ah, Victoria," said Lord Barkis, holding out one hand, "come, my dear. I've been waiting for you."


	8. Chapter 8: Petty Revenge

Victoria nearly fell back into her coffin with a gasp. "Barkis!" she whispered.

"Yes." That portly individual, if it were at all possible, had raised his chin still more higher than he

normally would have. "Welcome, Victoria, to the Land of the Dead. Does it please you?"

Victoria looked about her. Never before had she been in the Ball and Socket Joint, and as she gazed at the unhappy faces which simply returned her horrified stare she wondered if it had been so awfully grim when Victor had been there.

"Is it always so—quiet?" she said.

"Well, no...only since I took over."

Victoria shot Lord Barkis a venomous glance as she rose from her coffin. "Well," she said after a pause, "why am I here? I'm not dead, that's for sure—why, I would have been if you'd left me in that coffin, for the air was so inadequate in there."

"I _am_ sorry about that," Lord Barkis reassured her. "But you are right, my dear." He stroked his chin. "You are not dead, as am I. Let me tell you a secret," he said, grasping her arm. "After I died, my afterlife was not going to be particularly pleasant, was it? Not after all that I had done to that wretched Emily and your wimpy little fiancée..."

"Ha! And what you nearly did to me!" Victoria snapped, somewhat angered by Barkis's use of the term "wimpy little fiancée."

"Yes, yes," Barkis said absently, "but, my dear, listen to this! During the few weeks of torture which I was forced to endure, I managed to gain the favor of those who sought to harm me..."

"What? _Theirs?" _Victoria glanced briefly at the sorrowful countenances which still gazed bleakly at her.

"Ho, no!" Barkis laughed. "When I came down here, I was sent to another town—don't look so shocked, Victoria, that expression isn't at all pleasant—and there I managed to find _these _persons."

Victoria's heart pounded as she looked out the pub's open door. Outside, an army of cloaked figures stood silent and motionless, watching her. One of them had its hand on the pub's door; it was a grotesque hand, gray and rotting, with long, broken nails which seemed to be unnaturally sharp. Victoria turned away swiftly.

"Why have you brought me here?" she said, badly frightened. "Let me go back!"

Barkis's smile was one of pure enjoyment. "No," he returned, "for I _will_ have my revenge on you and—what was that fool's name—Victor. It is a pity that Emily is already dead..." he sighed deeply and shrugged. "Otherwise, what might I do? I have a fertile imagination, one which will come up with the worst tortures imaginable for those whom I consider my foes. But perhaps even her lifeless state shall not stop me from punishing her..."

"All you want, then," Victoria said, her voice trembling with anger, "is petty revenge!"

"No," Barkis said with a smile. "You underestimate me, my dear. I want the world."

"How will you..."

"It's only a matter of time now. I have already sent some of my—men—after your Van Dort brat. And when they find him..." he shivered with anticipation, "...ah, I have it all planned! He will be bound hand and foot, my dear Victoria; perhaps these poor fellows—" he gestured towards the cloaked spectators, "—will keep him for themselves a week or two. When they finally bring him to me, after having some fun of their own—oh, poor things, they have so little cheer in their lives—I'm sure he will be the loveliest sight in this wretched place."

Victoria was frozen for an instant. Finally she cried in her horror, "You are the villain who...invented these portals, are you not? Those things that will let you move from place to place, causing havoc wherever you..."

"Well, I didn't invent them." Barkis chuckled to himself for a good while. "I—I more was awarded with them when I summoned...oh, you must see him! Victoria..." he said gleefully, leading her despite her struggling to the pub's door, "...what do you think of this slimy young wretch? He calls himself Detrikzin; a pretty name for such a monster, don't you agree?"


	9. Chapter 9: Grave Robbers?

Oh, why had those thoughtless gravediggers insisted on placing Miss Everglot's grave in such a way so that it would be in plain view of passersby? Victor had nearly gone mad when he had seen it; fortunately Emily had been with him and was able to restrain him, but not before he had commenced unearthing Victoria's coffin, his slender fingers tearing at cold, hard earth until they were badly torn and blood fell from them in large, crimson drops. How he had fought her when she had tried to force him back—but he could not bring himself to actually harm her. This had played against him and though Emily gave up attempting to take him away from the grave, she did manage to pinion him against the ground and thus end his desperate digging.

She would never forget the despair that clouded his eyes as he writhed beneath her, sobbing as he gasped for breath, wild and panicked whilst trying to comprehend what now seemed to be the indisputable truth. Victor's parents had come across them and inquired whether or not Emily wished him to be "taken off her hands," as his father had put it, yet she declined this offer when she caught sight of the individual who Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort would have had carry Victor off. He was a muscular fellow and drove the Van Dort's carriage for them; Emily had noticed his rough fashion of driving the old horse about and found that she wouldn't trust him to handle such a situation as this, for his callous nature would surely push him, when resisted, to violent exertions. At this point, Emily reasoned, Victor was far too high-strung to endure such treatment. No, she would remain where she was, seated comfortably on top of her captive, until his insanity diminished.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and as night fell Victor—who had still behaved in a most unstable manner and so had not been allowed to rise—abruptly ceased his feeble struggling and lay still. For a moment Emily wondered if he had finally come to his senses; then she noticed that his gaze was fixed upon Victoria's gravestone. Rolling her eyes and sighing deeply, she rested her elbows on Victor's chest and then supported her head in her hands, shutting her eyes and trying to sleep. Victor winced but made no protest, his eyelids drooping until he, too, seemed to doze. Emily opened one eye, watching him with some suspicion. His ragged breathing gradually became more regular and his head fell to one side; Emily rose and stretched gracefully, allowing herself a single yawn as she did so.

Victor wasted no time. Emily had turned way from him and she was certainly unaware that he was really wide awake; perhaps he could quietly uncover the coffin...

It was a hopeless dream. No sooner did he press his fingers against the ground than overwhelming pain shot through him, so badly wounded were they; and though he tried with all his little remaining strength to prevent himself from crying out, a faint moan escaped him and he knew that all was over.

Emily spun around. "Why, you little sneak!" she cried, horrified. She caught hold of his arm with unnecessary roughness, but perhaps she had expected a reaction far different from the one she received. Victor gazed up at her and said, his voice no more than a whisper,

"You were at the funeral."

"Yes," Emily said. Something in his tone caused her to release him, though she did so with unmistakable wariness. "I was—Maggot went, too. Victoria was a nice girl; it was the least I could do."

Victor would not meet her gaze. "That was kind of you," he said.

"Hmm." Emily sighed and pressed a hand against her forehead. "Am I tired! How long have we been in this cemetery?"

Victor made no response to her question. "Emily?" he pleaded softly, "won't you help me...dig her up?"

Emily gasped, her eyes round. "You can't be serious," she said. "Assist you in—in disinterment?"

Victor dragged himself to his knees. "Ah," he said with a tired smile, "surely you're not afraid of a corpse, Emily."

"Of course not! But...I _don't _want to encourage you in this..."

Victor rose unsteadily. "At this point," he said, "I think I've already lost my mind. There's no reason for you to try and save it; it's simply gone."

"Doesn't sound like it," Emily said, her eyes sparkling, "why, you're still coming up with pretty speeches, aren't you? Have to have your old mind for that!"

Victor was silent for a moment. "There must be some way," he reasoned aloud, "to make this worthwhile for you. Perhaps I can pay you back somehow."

Emily frowned. "Will you drop this whole matter if I simply say that I won't help you?"

"Of course not. I'll merely have to rob this grave myself; but that's not too difficult."

The corpse bride took his hands in hers with the utmost care. "You've ruined your fingers," she said. "I rather think that that puts a stop to your using them for most anything. You won't even be able to use a shovel, for goodness' sake! If only you hadn't reacted so badly to seeing this..."

Victor's hands trembled and he returned, "Perhaps it does seem as though my working alone is impossible. Quite the contrary; my fingers will obey me whether they suffer for doing so or not. If I wish them to," he went on in a quieter tone, searching her face, "they'll dig this grave up, shovel or no shovel...help or...no help."

Emily smiled. "You've a good heart, Victor," she said, glancing at Victoria's grave, "despite its being a stubborn one. I will help you, if you promise me that after you see Victoria you'll give her up for dead at last."

Silence reigned for a few fleeting moments as Victor mulled over this condition, and the corpse bride laughed.

"Come on, silly; you'll see her again, whether she's dead or not. What's so hard about admitting that she's gone on to a better place?"

Her carefree tone eased Victor's anxiety somewhat and he said shakily, "Yes...yes, I promise."

She narrowed her eyes. "Manipulative wretch, are you as sincere as I hope you are?"

He couldn't help one weak laugh as he pressed a hand over his racing heart. "I swear I'll not deceive you this time, dear Emily," he said, managing a timid bow.

"Well, then!" she said. "Shift yourself; I want to get this over with."

With Emily's help it seemed that time flew, and in a matter of seconds the grave had been unearthed; yet there was no coffin to reward them. This was a grim affair; neither of them could believe that anyone would wish to rob the grave of a girl who had been given no valuables with which to be buried, and why would the robber take the corpse? So befuddling was this new occurrence that Emily couldn't even summon the energy to halt Victor as he crawled about Victoria's grave on his hands and knees in a manner that reminded her of a confused hound.

"Victor," she began a bit sluggishly—but even as she opened her mouth, the ground gave way beneath him and he vanished from view. Her calls were in vain, and the tunnel she could now see which he must have tumbled down was too long for her to see its end. There was nothing for it; she was going down.


	10. Chapter 10: Falling Downstairs

It was dark. No light was visible, there at the tunnel's other end, and though he did indeed have a few matches in one coat-pocket, Victor found himself unwilling to strike them. This same feeling of caution caused him to not reply when he dimly heard Emily calling him as she stood somewhere above. Yes, something was definitely wrong, he felt; he was simply unaware of what it was.

Emily seemed content to scream his name, much to Victor's annoyance, and as he began to relax he finally gained the courage needed to draw forth a match and discover his new surroundings. They were not at all attractive; he seemed to be in some sort of barren room. There was a small, wooden door to one side, and what seemed to be a coffin at another. Stepping near the coffin as a sudden thought struck him, he abruptly froze and found himself unable to move further.

Victoria was awake. In fact, she had just begun to rise from her sorry bed when Victor spied her. Her eyes were attracted to the match's light; with a sort of strangled cry, she leaped from the coffin and then stood awkwardly, watching him with the blankest of expressions.

To Victor's overwrought nerves, this was pure torture. First he quailed, pressing his lips firmly together; then he tapped one foot and twisted the buttons of his coat with the utmost rapidity. Just as he seemed ready to collapse, he pulled himself together for the briefest moment and croaked,

"Vi—Vi—Vi—"

He never did manage to say her name, partly because he gave it up and partly on account of Victoria's sudden change in bearing. It rather amazed him that she could move so quickly, for he was hardly aware of it when she flung her arms about him and silenced him with a more than affectionate kiss. The match had, by this time, all but burned out; the flame burned his already hurt fingertips and he dropped it hurriedly. Darkness closed about them, yet for once Victor found that he couldn't have cared less. Why, of course Victoria would make certain that nothing would dare come near him. He was safer there in the dark than he had been above ground, when he could still see—and after all, he did have another match.

Victoria, however, was not content to remain without light. No sooner had the match fallen than she whispered in his ear,

"Come; I have a candle here. Only I—I haven't a match to light it with. Surely you have, Victor."

Victor nodded; then, realizing that she could not see him, said meekly, "Yes...yes, I do, Vi...Vi..."

"Victoria," she said, moving her hand down his arm as he held the match towards her and she searched for his outstretched hand, "I'm afraid that you'll have to get used to saying my name, dear Victor, if we're ever to...oh, never mind."

The candle lit, Victor gazed at her with a troubled, almost frightened expression.

"What is it?" Victoria asked, wishing that she had a mirror. "Is there something wrong with me? Oh, what's happened? Is it..."

"There's nothing wrong with you," Victor hastened to say. "Only...were you not dead?"

Victoria did not meet his gaze. "No, I was not," she said with some hesitation. "I was drugged, Victor."

"Who would..."

"You _must_ leave. Go, Victor, I beg you! You haven't a chance down here...oh, please go!"

Victor would not budge; as harshly as she berated him for remaining, he could not make himself depart. Instead he whispered, "You don't know what it was like for me...up there." At her questioning glance, he continued, "I knew you were alive; everything pointed against it, I know, yet in my heart I...I felt that you still lived. When you were buried against my will, I tried to unearth you once more; I convinced Emily to help me. Yes, _that _Emily, Victoria. I owe her my very life. Oh, but you weren't there and I was so...I felt so...

"I was never utterly broken; I knew I would see you again, of course, whether or not you had died. Yet I had never known such pain..."

Tears were spilling from Victoria's round eyes and Victor found her sympathy more than welcome. Lifting one of his hands, she said,

"What's happened to your hands, Victor? Someone's hurt you? Oh...was it Emily?"

"No, no," Victor said quickly, "it was my fault. I tried to dig you up without a spade; and believe me, that's not exactly a wise way of setting about such an affair."

"Oh, how—oh, my poor love!" Victoria breathed, throwing her arms around his neck.

It was at that pleasant moment that none other than Lord Barkis Bitturn himself threw open the room's single door and entered with a triumphant cackle, and it was also during that eventful time that Emily fell from the tunnel with a heavy thud.

"Victor?" the corpse bride said, adjusting her veil and dusting herself off.

"Emily!" cried Barkis, taken aback. "Why, not _again_...oh, well, my dear. Welcome home once more!"

Emily shot him a withering glance and came near Victor and Victoria. "Yes," she hissed, "I've looked forward to seeing _you_."

Barkis's smile never faded. "I fear that you three have played straight into my hands," he said. "My revenge will soon be complete." He turned on his heel and called, "Bring rope!"

Victoria clung to Victor desperately. "What are you going to do?" she cried.

"He won't _do_," said Emily, "anything."

Barkis laughed. "Why, my dear," he said, "you're wrong, of course. Would you like to meet Detrikzin? I believe Victoria has already made his acquaintance."

Even as he spoke, a monster of gigantic size eased its way passed him and gazed at the three in a plainly threatening manner. It was bulky in size, with soft, slime-coated skin; its eyes were large and shone with intelligence, its teeth long and exquisitely white. Flabby claws with sharp nails dangled from short, muscular arms, and a stumpy tail twitched restlessly behind it. This foul beast was Detrikzin, a creature which had once been no more than a nightmare and which had been called forth with the aid of spells that are far too wicked to be explained. Barkis had found a book which had taught him how to summon it, and he had done so with the aid of his new allies; yet something was lacking for one final enchantment, the last spell which would make it possible for the monster to remain with him forever.

"Has he any interest in us?" asked Emily warily, her eyes narrowing considerably.

"Any interest!" Barkis could hardly contain his delight. He approached his prisoners and, standing beside them, gestured towards them eagerly. "Detrikzin!" he called, "I offer you the choicest persons you will ever lay eyes on! You may have them all, of course; but only one may be used for the sacrifice." "Sacrifice!" Emily gasped.

Victoria's face was very pale. "Sacrifice?" she said quietly.

Victor's mouth fell open but he could make no sound. And there was no time for him to; the monster came near them and, in a way which seemed to suggest that it had already thought the matter through, pointed one flabby paw towards Victor.

"This one," it rasped, forked tongue running over awful gray lips.


	11. Chapter 11: Things Have Turned Out Badly

Perhaps, under more normal circumstances, Victor would have acted in a more panicked fashion than he actually did. It is true that at first he appeared very much affected by trepidation, yet when he heard Victoria's bitter sobbing as she crumpled to the floor in her despondency, he found that it would be a sin to appear terrified whilst she looked on. Such behavior might worsen her already grief-stricken state; if he was indeed to die, he would like to face death knowing that she was in somewhat good spirits.

"Oh; take me!" Victoria gasped, trying with little success to stem her tears with her handkerchief. "I'm far nicer than he is! I _know _I'd make a better sacrifice!"

Barkis's mirth was evident. "I think Detrikzin wishes to save you up for something else, my dear. Ah, who knows what joys he has in store for you? And I'd rather hoped things would go this way. After all, what could be sweeter than to watch..."

Emily's awful look of fury caused him to fall silent.

Victor seated himself beside Victoria, hoping that he appeared calm. She shook with the violence of her sobs and he gingerly held one of her hands, murmuring,

"Victoria...it...it's alright, really. Please don't cry; I—I'm sorry things have turned out so badly..."

Victoria raised her head from where it had lain buried in her arms. "It isn't your fault," she whispered. One tear spilled onto his hand and she attempted to smile, but her lips trembled uncontrollably and she began to turn her head away.

Victor found this very hard to stand. No longer did he care whether or not the onlookers scorned him for his actions; he put his arm about her and she drew close to him, her sobs becoming somewhat weaker as she did so.

"Victor? Why, you're shaking!"

Well, at least she was able to speak without her voice quavering as badly as it previously had. That was some comfort; Victor closed his eyes as he felt her hands press gently against his chest. How kind she was—and what a compassionate girl, to pity such a cowardly individual!

Victoria held his chin with two little fingers. "You're not falling asleep, are you?" she said teasingly. She had ceased weeping, though her long eyelashes were still moist, and now gazed at him quite placidly.

"Why—no!" Victor said, a little startled.

She was about to start again; the tears were already forming in her eyes, threatening to spill once more. Afraid that he had offended her unintentionally, Victor said with great haste,

"Oh, forgive me! I didn't mean to...to speak so...foolishly, Victoria. Wretch that I am, I did not know..."

She laid one finger over his lips. "You haven't angered me in any way," she said. "If you were to make me stop crying, dear Victor, you would have to cease being yourself, I'm afraid."

"Oh, Victoria," he said softly, "I—I love you."

Victoria gazed up at him with a pretty yet sad smile. She made no reply to his timid confession, contrary to every expectation; instead, she embraced him a little more tightly and simply sighed.

One of the numerous tall, cloaked figures entered the room. In his claws he bore a thin cord; turning towards Barkis, it rasped,

"The rope you requested, Lord Barkis."

Barkis pointed towards Victor. "You know what to do," he said. "Detrikzin has selected him for the sacrifice."

Victoria would not release her hold on Victor even as the cloaked creature neared her. Victor tried to force her gently away, fearing what the cloaked one might do, but it was to no avail. No matter how he begged her, she would not leave him just as he had not left her when she had demanded it. Perhaps such a turn of events was fair, in a strange sort of way.

Mercifully, the cloaked one was gentle with her. It had little trouble in pulling her away, for it possessed inhuman strength, and Barkis kept her with him after it had done so; she strove to come near Victor once more, yet she simply lacked the strength needed to. For his sake alone did she refuse to react to this restraint as badly as she might have.

The cloaked creature caught hold of Victor's hair and pulled him viciously to his feet. Crying out in pain, Victor tried to free himself of its grip, and it in turn began to shake him about until he slipped to his knees. It was clear to everyone that the beast was playing with him just as a cat toys with its prey before slaying it at last.

One of its feet shot out, striking him. Victor found himself lying helplessly before it; he tried to raise himself and thus have a better chance at defense but it leaped upon him, sharp claws piercing his already torn clothing and wounding him.

Victor's terror gave way to overwhelming hatred as an agonized scream was torn from him; the creature was far too heavy for him to bear and he was having much difficulty in breathing. The monster raised its claws, drawing back its hood; Victor's heart froze as he gazed upon the reptilian horror which perched upon him.

Again he tried to rise but the creature's iron claws held him prisoner; hissing with anticipation, it lowered its head. Its jaws opened halfway, revealing thousands of knife-like teeth, and the breath that issued from its mouth was unbearably foul.

Victor threw his head back, desperate to escape the awful stench, and it closed its jaws lightly about his throat. For a moment Victor was certain that this was how his life would finally end; yet even as he prepared himself for whatever pain might await him before he finally expired, the creature rose and dragged him up with it.

He could barely stand, so exhausted was he, and there was no point in resistance as it wound its cord about his thin wrists at last. He defied it nonetheless, trying the creature's patience severely; had not Victoria broken free of her captor and rushed to his side, Victor may indeed have perished then and there. But she, fearing for his safety and hoping that perhaps they could escape later on, aided the creature by urging him to remain still.

Victor was nearly mad with pain and anger, and over and over he demanded to know why the creature had behaved so cruelly. Barkis, talkative fellow that he was, attempted to explain to him that it had only desired to wear him out before binding him, which would make such a duty very easy.

Victor comprehended little of what Barkis told him, for he was barely even conscious by the time the reptilian beast had finished. Even as he was being led from the room, Victoria walking close beside him, he murmured,

"I need to...lie...down..."

Having said this, he fainted. Victoria caught him as he fell and seemed able to support him, much to everyone's astonishment, but no one made any attempt to revive him. There was something in the manner of the two monsters who accompanied them that seemed unwilling to allow that sort of assistance.


	12. Chapter 12: She Repaid Their Wickedness

The temple could be called lovely; its floors were polished marble and its stone walls covered with strange designs that had been painted skillfully upon them. Candles were fastened up and down every one of these walls, casting their flicking light down upon the newcomers who entered through the temple's only entranceway, a tall door fashioned from pure silver.

The heathen priest himself was a vile little man with a sharp, crooked nose and bright eyes that seemed to shine still more brilliantly when he laid eyes upon Victor's limp form. In the priest's gnarled hands he held the book that had caused such trouble and brought about such triumph for Lord Barkis; bobbing his head eagerly, he moved towards an ornately carved altar, and said in a strangely high-pitched voice,

"Here, here, put him here. This is the one, hmm? This is the one?"

A hiss from the reptilian creature and an odd sort of snort from Detrikzin confirmed this assumption.

"Well," said the priest with a ghastly smile, "it's about time; yes, about time. Hee, hee, how long I've waited for this!" he cackled, patting Victor's middle as that senseless person was laid upon the altar.

Victor's eyes opened halfway as the priest consulted his book. He was astonished to find himself gazing at a cross that had been intricately sketched on one crumbling page; the priest glanced at him sharply and, realizing that Victor was looking quietly on, snapped the book shut in an almost fearful manner.

"Well," he said, trying to calm himself. "_Well_, if you aren't awake, then. It's about time, as many things are; about time, hee hee!" He turned towards the cloaked individual. "Bind him to the altar, then; we haven't much time! Make haste, make haste! _Oh!"_

The priest opened his book delightedly as he searched for the desired spell. Victor's eyes roved the room as he sought Victoria; she stood by Emily, watching him with a frozen, horrified expression. Not that he blamed her—for things hadn't exactly happened as he would ever have expected.

He was bound much too tightly but he was too tired to protest. The priest couldn't seem to find the right spell; it felt like an eternity before Detrikzin finally grated,

"Can you not find it, Mikidrip?"

"Of course I_ will," _replied the priest hurriedly, "only there are so many little details about how to put a _stop_ to this spell; it's rather _hard, _hard I say! Oh, finally! It's about time, hee hee! The dagger, someone; the dagger. Anyone have a dagger?"

With a snarl of disgust, the reptilian beast handed him his preferred sacrificial weapon. The priest raised it high over Victor's breast and began to speak in a tongue his victim had never before heard. There was a quality to it that caused Victor to feel strangely unwell; he tried desperately not to listen, wondering what the "little details" on how to thwart his captors' plot could possibly be.

The priest was becoming extremely caught up in his enchantment. He had begun to wave his hands about jerkily, chanting all the while. Victor's biliousness was increasing rather than diminishing; gasping for breath, he strained vainly at his bonds. One glance at Victoria and Emily revealed that they were experiencing the same awful nausea themselves; Victoria's hands were pressed over her ears and the corpse bride looked somewhat green in contrast to the pale blue she had once been.

It was as the priest prepared to dispatch him once and for all that an awful realization overcame him. What torments did this Detrikzin have in store for Victoria? And what would become of Emily? If his death would indeed give Barkis and his cohorts power over those who dwelt in the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead, would that not mean endless suffering for all?

The image of his burning home entered his reeling mind; why, his entire hometown had been set to flame by Lord Barkis! Nothing was left. Every sketch he had ever drawn, save the one of Victoria which he still had safely hidden in his coat, had been consumed by fire; even his darling teddy Evibee had not escaped. Every home was destroyed, every cobblestone scorched; nothing remained, save the church...

His heart skipped a beat. Why had the church not fallen to ruin? Oh, what had protected it from Barkis's wicked might?

"Cross," he whispered frantically, "the cross...cross..."

The priest's knife descended with cruel speed but Victor's panicked thoughts had not merely wasted time; though his shaking finger caused it to bear only slight resemblance to the image he held in his pounding heart, he had nonetheless drawn what was plainly a cross upon the altar's dust-coated surface, close beside him. The knife's progress seemed to halt even as its tip was but a few inches away from him and the priest's face became distorted with fury.

"What—what's this!" he cried. "Detrikzin, have you been meddling with my book, you lump of ignorance?"

The monster fairly shrieked, "I haven't gone _near _your accursed book!" Its stumpy tail twitched restlessly in its growing fury.

"Aha! I see what you've done, you scheming wretch!" sad the priest, addressing Victor as he attempted to obliterate the little cross. "Clever one, aren't you? It's about time we met a sacrifice like you; about time! I've met many in my day who—owooh! Why's this filthy thing hurting my fingers? _Yeeek!" _

"Do not touch it," commanded Detrikzin in an imperious tone. Suddenly he hissed, "Why, give that back, girl! Give it back, I say!"

Victoria had wasted no time; whilst her foes were distracted, she had snatched the book free of the priest's loose hold and, unable to flee because the door was bolted, held it high above her head.

"Release him!" she cried.

At first everyone felt somewhat confused by this command, but soon they managed to comprehend what she meant. With all possible haste, the priest set to work cutting through the cords which bound Victor to the altar, darting nervous glances at Victoria all the while. An oppressive silence fell, disturbed only by Victor's ragged breathing, and after a long while Victoria spoke once more.

"Come, Victor."

The manner in which she spoke was more than intimidating to poor Victor, who staggered towards her and crumpled at her feet, utterly drained of strength.

"Emily, stand by us," Victoria ordered, her expression grim. Victor had never seen her like this before; it was as if the horrors they had endured together had caused her to become far different from the bride-to-be he had once known.

"Victoria?" he said, half-afraid; she spared him not even a glance.

"This," she said, facing her former captors, "is how I repay those who plan destruction and misery; this is how I repay those who seek to harm persons whom I have vowed to protect; this is how I repay your wickedness."

With this short speech, Victoria snapped the book in two as if it were no more than a very brittle twig. The two halves fell heavily upon the marble floor, which promptly began to tremble beneath them with alarming vigor; the priest shrieked and flung himself at Detrikzin, clinging to that monster for protection.

"She's destroyed it! Oh, the vixen, she's _ruined _us! That book was our only hope, our only chance to remain..."

"Silence!" thundered Detrikzin, lifting him and flinging him across the temple with great contempt.

"We should leave!" Emily cried, catching hold of Victoria's arm as the floor shook still more violently.

Victoria cast her cold gaze upon Victor. "Rise," she said.

Victor strove to comply, but his legs would not support him. Striking him, Victoria hissed,

"Do you dare to defy me? Come, get up!"

"I—I can't!" Victor gasped, badly frightened and yet determined to make her understand. "Leave me! I cannot make it—and I'll only slow you down. Go on...and farewell, Victoria."


	13. Chapter 13: Beautiful Things Must End

Victoria did indeed begin to leave him, for something had changed in her since she had laid eyes on the priest—no longer was she the compassionate, gentle girl she had once been.

Emily stood by a sizable crack in the temple wall that she had been about to escape through when Victoria's abrupt lack of pity caused her to halt, utterly astonished. She glanced at Victor but he would not meet her eyes, his head bowed low as he listened to Victoria's receding footsteps.

Suddenly Victoria froze, a look of shock crossing her face. She spun around with a gasp, eyes round with surprise, even as the entire temple rained shards of stone down upon them; it was crumbling at an alarming rate. Dashing towards Victor, she swept him up effortlessly and ran as quickly as she could manage in Emily's direction, where she and the corpse bride slipped through the crack just as the temple fell once and for all.

The ground still shook and there seemed no place to hide; a large depression in the thick trunk of a nearby tree caught her eye and she hurried there, Emily close beside her. Thankfully, they all managed to fit within it, though Victor's long legs did extend a little further outside than Victoria felt was safe.

* * *

When Victor regained consciousness, he found himself in the Ball and Socket Joint once more. Piano music assailed him and the sound of raucous laughter was all too prominent. Rising halfway from the two chairs he had been laid across, he uttered a cry of dismay and leaped hastily to his feet. 

"Hey, there; wait a minute, bud, I feel like buyin' yew a drink after treatin' ya like I did—back then, remember, when we met in your room? Well, I'd like to apologize. I guess I wuz a little excited or somethin' when I shoved ya under your bed an' all that, but..."

"No need to apologize, sir," Victor told Bonejangles quietly. "It was all for the best, was it not?"

"Why, so it wuz," laughed the skeleton, slapping Victor on the back. "So...it..._wuz_. Why, that reminds me; I've written yew and your girlfriend a nice little ditty in honor of...whatever ya did down here that saved this joint from ruin!" he turned towards his watching band, ignoring Victor's protests. "Let 'er rip!"

It was a well-written song with a catchy tune, but Victor was not in the mood for it. No sooner did he hear Victoria's name mentioned than his hands flew over his ears and he tried to make his escape, tripping over himself many a time whilst he did so. But no one would let him leave; with a despairing sob he collapsed on the floor.

"Keep away!" he snapped, wild with pain, "Let me out of this...this wretched place! Why am I not home? Why..."

"Maybe," interrupted Bonejangles in a teasing fashion, "you haven't got a home."

"What if I haven't?" cried Victor, facing him. "Does that mean that I am to remain here? I'm not dead—let me leave!I can stand this no longer." Noticing the hurt, offended looks of those who surrounded him, he added softly, "Forgive me; you must understand that some things..." he bit his lip viciously, "...really haven't gone..." drawing a shuddering breath and shutting his eyes swiftly, he found himself unable to speak further.

"At least you didn't marry her before you knew what she was really like, right?" Maggot said lightly.

Victor made no reply.

"This might be of some comfort to you, _petite garcon," _said Paul. "_Votre grand maison _has been redone, so to speak; why, the whole town was burned to the ground and yet it has all reappeared! I think that when you destroyed that book Emily told me of, all the harm Barkis had caused with it just went _poof! _Vanished. _C'est magnifique!"_

The head-waiter's happy news reached the ears of Victoria Everglot as she entered the pub. No one seemed to meet her gaze and no one thought to offer her a drink or even speak to her; she blinked back tears, forcing her way through the crowd that surrounded Victor.

One gruesome individual tried to halt her. "You haven't any business here!" he snarled, shoving her back.

She tried to push him in return but all the strength seemed to have gone out of her. "Oh, _Victor!" _she screamed out of habit as she was pushed into one dark corner of the pub.

Victor raised his head. "Victoria?" he said.

"Forget her," Maggot hissed, "she's done enough damage in your life, mister. Relax now. Down, boy, down!" he added frantically as Victor rose.

Everyone became very quiet. Victoria was no longer hindered as she ran towards Victor and, having reached him, embraced him so tightly that she drove all the breath out of him.

"Oh, Victor," she sobbed, "I didn't mean what I did; you know I didn't, don't you?"

When he did not speak, she chanced a look at his face. In that single moment all her fears diminished and she held him still more tightly. Victor watched her affectionately, his pale lips curved in a smile of pure joy. Neither of them acted very surprised at the other's behavior, much to the onlooker's astonishment.

"Hmm. Aren't you going to reprimand her?" asked Widow, abruptly making herself known.

Victor gazed up at the spider as she dangled from the ceiling. "Why, where _have _you been?" he asked. "The last time I found myself here I don't remember seeing you."

"Don't try and change the subject!" she fussed.

"Leave him be," said Maggot with a sideways look at her, "I like watching true lovers finally ending up together, don't you?"

"Just remember," Widow said, "it is commonly known that I do not hesitate to devour my husband on our very wedding day!"

Victoria stepped away from Victor and he offered her his arm; she accepted it with a small laugh, murmuring something about feeling quite silly, yet enjoying it immensely. Everything was right at last—and they had never felt happier.

"Well, Victoria," said Victor, "shall we go home?"

* * *

_And now we shall leave these adventurous characters in their happy state, for this is, in fact...the end._


	14. A Final Word

_There are a good many plot holes in the tale "Evil Comes For Thee." For instance, it never is explained just why Victoria Everglot behaved so oddly while in the temple, is it? No, a good many things have been left unsaid...for a reason. _

_I halfway intended to write a sequel to this story, should its popularity be enough to cause me to do so. Strangely enough (or is it so strange?) this odd tale attracted few reviews, and absolutely none for the ending—which I daresay was quite disturbing. But some persons enjoyed this story, and so I shall now put this forward..._

_If a sequel is desired, I must be informed. If not, I shall forget the whole mad enterprise. _

_Ever yours,_

_Daniel Benson_


End file.
